My maddening crimson thoughts of you
by Cid Dante
Summary: Would anyone believe me if I said that this is all about a woman? That I was simply trying to please the woman I loved or have I simply just fallen in love with the colour of red all over again? I'm not sure and I think, it scares me...


**Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji or any of the characters.**

In my madness...madness? Is that how I will explain away my acts of heinous violence against those women? Will he believe me this time? Can he actually believe this if I told him?

Can I really decently get away with saying that I saw nothing but a red mist as I committed those crimes?

Would anyone believe me if I said that it was all about a woman? That I was simply trying to please a woman I had fallen in love with?

Had I though? Have I really fallen in love with her or did I just fall in love with the colour red all over again?

Granted, I didn't exactly plan on playing a useless butler or actually plan on killing anyone outside of the To Die List but don't you do some pretty silly things when you are truly in love? Men should have been fawning at her feet, begging for a chance of her company but they all stayed away. Are they all scared of her?

I'm left to be the man in whatever twisted little relationship we have and I don't think I fulfilled it that well. I see her at night, before she goes to bed and before I leave to continue on with my own reaping of souls. Her almost red eyes wet with tears as she performs her own rituals of bathing and preening before retiring.

The woman had a whole host of potions and lotions to keep herself looking beautiful and I must admit, I rather enjoy it when she turns some attention on me every so often. I would giggle when she places the cold feeling cream on my cheeks and rub it gently over my face. I have told her that as I no longer age normally, such routines are pointless but I still enjoy the attention.

Her hands feet like ice though when she runs her hand through my hair. It was like death...no, not death but I didn't feel anything when she would compliment my hair. It was then that I usually felt something sharp pierce my chest.

Madam Red always stabbed me at night after she pampered me. It was becoming habit and I was becoming sick of it. Sick of the feeling of the blade slicing through my chest and sick of how the pain would blind me.

As always though, once she had seen the crimson red of my blood soak my white shirt and stain my waistcoat, she would fall into my arms and weep. Burying her face to hide those tearful red eyes from me and she would cover herself in my blood.

I keep thinking about the day that I get to cover myself in her blood. When will it be? What reaper would try to claim my red woman from me? Whoever was foolish enough to get the name on their list would need to battle me, the spoilt little scarlet lady was mine.

We both have the same desire though. We want to be the perfect embodiment of being a woman but due to some twisted sense of dark humour from the wretched fates, we are denied that. We cannot bare children and while I am at ease with that because of my gender, Angelina is not quite as tranquil.

My stomach does twist in guilt when I see her deal with a child as a patient and all I can do is try not to laugh at her pain. I don't do children, I may joke that I want to bear them with demons but the very thought of having a child scares me to the core.

A tiny fragile little thing that is utterly dependant on you for everything. Food, water, comfort and...huh...

A butler is a masculine mother. I'm a useless butler so I guess that I would make a useless mother then. I have seen the perfection in a butler, my mistress's nephew has one. The dark haired, handsome creature who stands to attention next to the boy and seems to know everything about everything.

Well, almost everything. He doesn't know about the true identity of the, what are the papers calling it? Jack the Ripper? How adorable. I'd rather not tear through the butler though, he is rather lovely to look at and he has shown me kindness when I have made mistakes but I don't do sentiment.

If he becomes an obstacle or a threat to me, I will end his life.

I'm sitting in my room Madam Red has granted me. A room full of dull colours and I find myself missing my own home back in my realm. My room was warm and full of red. This room seemed to reflect the ugliness in my rather lovely red mistress. It matched the idiotic butler I was forced to play to keep up the appearance.

I hear Angelina call for me from her bathroom and I think about ignoring her. My normally strong body is tired and my limbs ache every time I even think about moving. The mattress that is on my bed is cold and unyielding and I have yet to actually have a decent night sleep. My lady keeps me busy at night.

I could pretend that I have gone out to reap some souls but her calls sound desperate and I have a feeling that I will wind up being incapable of moving without pain in the morning.

Removing my waistcoat seemed like a good idea, it was hard trying to find clothing that fitted my slender and flat chest in the mortal realm and I've grown to like my waistcoat, even if it isn't red. The stitching is elegant and pretty, the buttons all shiny. I pulled out my shirt tails and allowed them to hang over my trousers. I had already removed my ugly black shoes earlier and I could feel the knots on the wooden floorboards on my feet.

I fluffed my hair out of the sleek ponytail that I needed to wear it in when I was playing tame. Tonight, I would be me. I would be Grell Sutcliffe, the red reaper of death. My glasses remain the obscenely round things, if the little madam is going to play vicious tonight, I would like my precious red spectacles out of harms way.

The house is quiet as I walk to the bathroom, the moon casting white light into the hallway through the window on the landing. The rest of the staff given the night off or sleeping in the rooms downstairs. I was allowed to be upstairs because I'm her butler.

I'm aware that I should have been fully dressed in my uniform but it was just me and her. She knew better than to mock a Death God for his appearance. I don't even bother knocking as I entered the bathroom and see the large white enamel bathtub in the centre of the room.

I am rather glad that plumbing has finally gotten better over the centuries, I still shudder at how humans deemed bathing to be a disgusting thing to do but they were finally understanding that cleanliness was next to godliness.

A glass full of deep crimson wine sat next to the bath and a pale arm that ended with red fingertips toyed with the rim. I watch for a moment, watching the beads of water run and drip from slender and skilled fingers and imagine that she is covered in blood instead.

I have seen it though on other women and I suppress a shiver of...delight? No...I don't delight in ending someone but there is something that is itching at the back of my mind that wants to call it nice but it isn't. I am murdering prostitutes because this woman orders me too.

"Grell..." her voice is quiet and I hear the tears being forced back, "my crimson death god. Come to me."

Oh my, crimson death god? I hadn't been aware she had drank that much. I can't see any bottles but they could be hiding on the other side. The moon was still giving her light through the window and I hate how I stand in the doorway like some pervert watching a cheap tart.

"My lady," I soothe as I kneel beside her, my voice gentle as I can clearly see she is naked, "I'm here."

She grabs my long hair and pulls viciously. My chin connects loudly against the rim of the bath and I taste my own blood and hear ringing in my ears for what feels like eternity. I swallow the metal taste of copper and wonder why I had deserved such punishment today. Not for the first time, I wonder what her blood tastes like and I again envisage her form as her precious ruby life is seeping from the wound I will give her.

"I hate my body...this ugly scar that is my reminder of my barren womb," Angelina releases me and starts to fuss over my tender jaw.

My eyes skim over her supple breasts and straight to her stomach. I can see the scar from the operation used to save her life but which had also damned it and in turn, damned so many others. I say nothing but lift up the wine glass to my lips, I take a long sip, hoping to feel the buzz of the alcohol in my veins before the pain takes over.

"Another woman came to me today," she continues, "another spoilt woman who wants rid of that precious thing."

My pulse quickens and I listen carefully. I take another sip of the wine, pretending not to act as though I care about the information. Madam Red sits up in the bath, the water a milky grey as the soap interacted with the liquid. The good lady doctor is angry now and I feel that I may get away with little abuse tonight if she has something to direct her rage against.

Why I allow her to abuse me in such a manner... I still do not know myself. I can take the damage, I heal remarkably quickly, even for a Grim Reaper.

"...shall I make her pretty in red?" I whisper.

Madam Red always hesitates when I ask her this and I feel that perhaps she is not as cold as she claims she is. I'm terrified that she is not as strong as she makes out and that I have fallen for someone who isn't brilliant, just insane with grief.

However, am I actually questioning her or...am I doubting myself?

"Yes," the confidence in her voice is reassuring to me, washing away the doubt that wanted to spread in my mind and heart.

"I want you to make her a beautiful creature in nothing but red," my mistress's voice is cold and hard, "Paint her crimson once I have made her into a barren waste."

I stand back as I watch her stand up in the tub, her body was tinged pink with the fading warmth of the bath and I can see her in all her naked glory. Her red hair sat perfectly and I often thought that she would have been even prettier if she had just kept her hair long.

She weighs nothings as I lift her out of the bath and she presses against me. Her pale lips were devoid of the red lipstick she is so found of and her arms hold me in a tight embrace. I close my eyes, imagining that perhaps it's not Angelina holding me but another love I desperately crave.

I panic slightly at that thought and I push the woman away. The terror is real that I feel in my chest as my heart refuses to let go of the memory of my true love. The coldness in his eyes as they pierced my armour and how he would always make me weak.

The slap across my face sounded like a gunshot in the silent bathroom and it certainly brought me out of the thoughts of him. I take a steadying breath and grin at her like a lion to a zebra. She doesn't need to know about my doubts, once I have started painting those cheap tarts in pretty pretty red, they will fall silent.

"Of course," I whisper as I gather a towel for my mistress.

The towel is white as I wrap it around her. I follow her out, leaving the bath water in. The maid can deal with it in the morning before Madam wakes up, unless we get covered in the crimson liquid of our victims tonight then I will deal with it.

We walk in silence to her bedroom and I pause, turning round because I thought I saw a shadow in the darkness. My heart thundered as I couldn't seem to remove that man from my mind now, I kept thinking that he was around and watching everything I do. Giving me enough rope to hang myself as he collected evidence on my betrayal to the reaper realm.

"Sit down," she orders, "I'll do your make up before we leave."

I sit on the bed and instantly want to lie down on it. I suddenly feel more tired than I actually was aware of and realise that I hadn't actually slept for four days now. Reapers can get away with going for days without it if we are pushed but we do need sleep, a throwback to the days when we were once human. I want to sleep but Madam Red seems keen to go and paint the town red.

"I need to sleep," I murmur quietly into the room, my eyes close by their own violation.

It seems I may have luck, I'm pushed backwards onto the soft bedding but I'm still wary of being attacked by her. I haven't been pampered tonight so perhaps, just perhaps I can sleep. She's still trying to figure out how much punishment my body can take before enough is enough.

"We have been busy," I hear her say as she lay next to me, "perhaps we should let this one go."

My eyes fly open and I sit upright, "No. We won't. You told me that no matter what, we would punish all who threw away that gift."

She looks surprisingly shocked in the dark light of the bedroom, her lips now painted in lipstick and she had slipped into her fitted underwear and garments. I can see the blade on the bed next to her and I knew that I wasn't getting away with being untouched.

I wasn't like her cheap tarts and I would fight back if she became unruly but I did love her. I allowed this abuse on my form because she was so very good at pampering me. However, if she was having doubts, that was not acceptable.

I was doing this for her. The death was for her, no one else.

"Are you becoming yet another _ordinary_ woman?" I sneered and the knife dug deeply into my chest as my answer.

My blood stained my white shirt and it spurted out onto Angelina. The red looking black against the white of her undergarments and I gasp in pain. That had been rather aggressive on her part, I wanted to return the blow but I revelled in the pain.

"Bathe yourself in my blood," I whisper as she plunged the blade back into my form, "Oh how pretty you look."

It was a whirl of shrieks and gasps as she attacked me. I stumbled backwards, losing my balance and dropping to the floorboards heavily. My shirt was ruined and my breathing was damn painful to do, my ears were filled with her heavy breaths as she towered above me with the blade still in her hands.

My glasses slid down my nose and I felt too weak to push them back up. I could feel my arms shake under my weight as I used them to steady myself on the floor. My hair now matted with my own blood and I wanted to ask if she thought I looked lovely bathed in my blood. She certainly did.

I tried to speak but a breathy, pained laugh escaped me. My tired and pained mind made me hear a sound that was similar to the sound that I now associated with the death scythe spear that he used. I tried to turn around, hoping that it was just my mind but I couldn't.

"Don't you _ever_ call me that," Madam Red snarled and I hear the fury in her voice, "Clean yourself up. We're going out."

I smile at her, a smile that could scare the devil and I stand up. My chest feels like it is on fire but the wounds were already healing. The shirt is ruined but I wonder if she really knows as to who she is dealing with.

"...y...y,yes," I finally manage with the same cold smile that just doesn't feel like me.

I took a breath as I try to ignore the pain that is causing fireworks to explode all over my chest. Madam certainly had a temper tantrum and she nicked some of my ribs with the blade but the pain was fading. The cuts knitting themselves together and by the time we arrive at her victim's home, I would have recovered.

The room had gotten colder but that was simply because of the adrenaline in this body leaving. I knew she still held the blade in her blood red hands and that she was furious at me for calling her ordinary.

My breathing was becoming heavy, my body was refusing to move as I wanted it. My eyes blinked slowly and I snort in mild amusement. The healing was draining my strength and collapse in a messy heap to my knees before falling back onto the hard floor.

I must be hallucinating as I once again hear the shnick sound of his scythe from somewhere in the room as I close my eyes to allow sleep to take me in her lovingly numb arms. I want to warn my crimson lover but the strength is no longer in me.


End file.
